


Fear and Loathing

by ganvogh



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Character Analysis, Character Study, Developing Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Love/Hate, M/M, Multi, One Shot, One Shot Collection, Other, Pre-Relationship, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-17 02:48:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13067517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ganvogh/pseuds/ganvogh
Summary: Desmond, the one who was chosen. He seems to only care about himself, but did anyone else ever think to?Shaun, the workaholic. He shuts people out because he's an ass, but is there more to it than that?A look into how two unlikely co-workers come to depend on each other more than anyone else.(Snippets I come up with as I write my bigger fics.)





	Fear and Loathing

“Shaun!” a voice called out, suddenly breaking the quiet ambience of the rural Italian town.   
  
“You’ve gotta come see this!”   
  
_God_ , he was just like an overbearing, excited puppy. It was infuriatingly endearing.   
  
“Are you signalling for bloody Templars up there? You might as well be a massive neon sign! _We're over here, Abstergo!”_ he hissed back. A head stared at him from its perch on the balcony above. He couldn't see the expression, but he knew Desmond was likely rolling his eyes.   
  
“Just get your ass up here.”   
  
Shaun scowled. Scaling buildings was easy to those who’ve learned two lifetimes of rigorous secret-society parkour in as many weeks, it was generally a lot harder for the rest of the populous.   
  
“And how would you like me to accomplish that? Grab my umbrella and sing my way up?” he placed his hands on his hips, staring defiantly at the vague shadow above him. Desmond, much to his irritation, simply laughed at him again, the golden flecks in his eyes shining above him.   
Shaun briefly wondered if it was cheating to use your ancestor’s ancient gift of sight as an inbuilt nightlight.

“There's a ladder to your right, Mary Poppins.” He held his humour, but was beginning to sound impatient.

Shaun sneered, threw his hands up and fumbled his way over to the old ladders. They didn't look like they came from this century, at the very least. They were probably from the same one as Ezio himself. He briefly toyed with the idea that Desmond had set this up just to see him fall flat on his arse, only to decide to hell with it.   
He climbed steadily and carefully, growing increasingly agitated with each groan of protest the old wood gave. He managed to reach the top in one piece, pausing as his feet touched the rooftop to compose himself.

“Desmond?” he called out quietly.

“Over here.” He responded simply from slightly higher up, Shaun moving carefully towards him, avoiding the gaps in the terracotta.

“Look what I found!” giant man-child Desmond gushed as he desperately waved him over. He rolled his eyes but obliged him regardless, never being much good at denying Desmond what he wanted.   
He crouched down to get a better look at what it was, having a difficult time adjusting to the lack of light. He could make out... an old ornate box of some kind?

“What is it?” he asked with a sigh, giving in to Desmond's stupid grinning face that was begging to be asked about it.

“It's Maria's feather box! It's where she stored all the eagle feathers after I- _Ezio_ , collected them. There must have been at least a hundred. He always looked for them, especially after Petruccio... after he was...” Shaun glanced up in sympathy, seeing a far-off look on Desmond's face. He likely thought of the youngest Auditore as his own brother through reliving Ezio's life.   
Seeing something like that... no one should be put through it.

“He just... didn't _deserve_ it, y’know? He was just a _kid_. He didn't _know_ anything.” Desmond had bent over to open the box, where a handful of feathers still remained. He ran a gentle finger along the spine of a larger mottled brown quill, expression a mix of sadness and resentment.   
“He didn't have to _die_.”

Shaun nodded solemnly.   
“No.” He stood, leaving Desmond to the box and looking out to the dim light of the rural Italian village. “No, he didn't. But men like The Pazzi, like The Borgia... They don't care who they hurt along the way. We may not live in the Renaissance anymore, but the story is still the same. It always is.”

“Jesus, Shaun. That's a pretty cynical way of looking at it.” Desmond rose to stand beside him, checking for signs of Abstergo with his golden eyes set to the horizon.

“It's called being _realistic_ , Des. Do you seriously think they'll stop trying to find you? That you can ever go back to your old life now?” he was looking at him now, observing the small frown he wore as he considered Shaun's words. He eventually let out a sigh, his eyes trailing to the ground, returning to their usual colour. He worried his bottom lip, just above his scar.

Shaun began to think he might has well have just punted a blind, three-legged puppy halfway across a football field. It would probably give the same soul-crushing effect as making Desmond sad.

“No, I- I know I can't go back now.” He walked over to sit on the edge of the roof, Shaun hesitating a moment before joining him. He looked to the night sky, the wide, yellowed moon looking back at him.   
He took in the stars as he took in breath, wondering how long it had been since he had simply stopped and looked at the world around him. He was always so _tired_ and everything was always moving so _fast_. Looking up was never an option when your head was always forced forward. But Desmond had the uncanny ability to make him remember to breathe again, to stop and revaluate his course before proceeding.

“When I was younger, my Dad used to tell me about _Abstergo_ \- about the Templars. I never believed him. I thought it was just some exaggerated conspiracy to scare me into training. There was this permanent paranoia set into every face I seen, my Dad's... my Mom's, even the other kids.” He picked absently at the hem of his hoodie. “I was _so sick_ of it. Constantly training to fight, to hide, to- to _kill_. But never being told _why_ , never being given any other answer but ‘ _the creed_ ’. I wanted a life of my own, one where I didn't have to wear the same fear I saw on everyone else. I watched my Dad looking over his shoulder my whole life, watched him put this- this _creed_ over everything. Over me.”

Shaun knew, of course. William Miles was many things, but father of the year, he was not. Even now, he was pushing for extended periods in the Animus, seemingly oblivious to the effect it was having on Desmond. The Mentor would see the mission through at all costs, but what happened when the cost was his own flesh and blood?   
What was the price that became too high to pay?   
When push came to shove, would it be the Assassins, or would it be Desmond, who claimed first priority?

“Sorry, I don't mean to bore you with all this. I just- I haven't really spoken about it all before.” He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, suddenly all too aware of how much he had said.

Desmond. Strong, carefree and smiling _Desmond_ who was so _soft_ and fragile and _hurting_ , like a wind-up toy with its circuitry broken inside.   
He played the tune as best as he could, but there was always something underneath waiting to silence him.   
And here he was, apologising for daring to even admit that he wasn't okay, and things weren't alright.

Shaun huffed a short laugh, gaining the other’s attention. “Look. I know I'm a bit of an arse, but I'm not so much of an arse that I would just ignore you if you're struggling. If you need to get something off your chest, I'm all ears.”

For whatever reason, he had found himself the confidant of the team. Both Lucy and Rebecca trusted him enough to speak what was on their minds, and so Desmond doing the same was hardly going to cause a second apocalypse.   
Besides, a part of him rather liked the idea that he had earned Desmond's trust. That the younger Assassin would come to him above anyone else.

The answer seemed to be one that pleased Desmond immensely, a huge dopey grin brightening his features like the walking sunbeam that he was.

“Yeah?” he questioned rhetorically. “Well, um... Same here. I'm not much good at giving advice, but I'm a pretty solid listener. I'm always here if you need me, Shaun.” Shaun gulped, wondering how any grown man could possibly be so pure. “Deal.” He smiled back, Desmond's grin turning infectious.

He huffed out a little laugh, turning his attention back to the stars.

Shaun done just the same.


End file.
